


Kill & Run

by GetRektSisterGertrude



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Colors, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Stiles, Detectives, Flowers, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Music, Love/Hate, M/M, Tragedy, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9672476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetRektSisterGertrude/pseuds/GetRektSisterGertrude
Summary: It all happened because of that young man with the big scar on his face. That young man whose face seemed to haunt the man in black.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Had this nightmare while listening to Adele's Kill&Run.   
> It was really angsty in my dream but enjoy the detectivexyakuza theme~

**Kill & Run**

 

The wind carried leaflets through the night. A full moon shone bright above a small city where everyone was in a long deep slumber of their restless dreams. The peaceful silence laid over every sleeping face. A single noise, that of a heart beat, would cut through it like a sharp knife. But there was something even bigger coming out of an apartment door. Creaking sounds of a swinging double door and footsteps running and echoing under the clear winter sky. Shadows threw themselves from the brightness of the street lights onto the rough brick walls.

 

The lights were cold as the wind itself. A cold blue followed by the scent of ice.

 

The leaflets reached their destinations and as the wind slowed down, it touched the ground. The wet sound of someone stepping into a puddle echoed from the empty side-ways. One of the leaflets landed right in front of the big shadow, which was in a hurry, trying to hide in the darkness of itself.

 

A wanted leaflet of a young man with a big scar through his face, covering the left corner of his mouth to his nose and up to his right eye, soaked and torn apart. That scar made the young man seem intimidating and fearful, but without it, he would have looked just like any other young man his age with gentle lineaments.

 

The big raven-like shadow did not care for the leaflets, no. It simply kept running fiercely through the piercing wind. It's black coat fluttered in the wind. It looked like a black crow flying away from it's own shadow.

 

The only thing it left behind was a path of red. An unmatched colour of the surroundings. While everything was black, white, grey and blue, there was this red. It interfered with the peacefulness of the small city. It disturbed the sleepy faces that dreamt happy but empty dreams.

 

It spoiled the beauty of nature.

 

But the man in the black coat did not care for beauty nor the happy sleeping faces, no. He did not care for anything except the red that tainted his hands. Only his shadow remained a perfect piece in this messed up world. The man did not care if his loud and noisy footsteps would destroy the peaceful silence, no. He did not care at all.

 

It all happened because of that young man with the big scar on his face. That young man whose face seemed to haunt the man in black.

 

Why did it had to end like this?

 

He was simply in love, wasn't he?

 

It was a mistake that he could not correct. He had failed in everything. His life destroyed by a single splash of red in this monochrome world. It was too warm in his hands, the red was burning and carving itself into his pale and cold skin. It was disturbing, yet, a beautiful sensation. It was all because of that young man. Without him, there was no summer. No more warm colours in this city. Because of him. Him, the man in the black coat. Him, a failed detective.

 

The only thing left for him was eternal winter.

 

It began with pure feelings. Flowers that bloomed in innocent colours. It was warm and gentle. It was nothing, but everything, purely perfect in this small city. There were dreams and music, right?

 

The man in the black coat could no longer remember. There was only a face. That face which soon haunted him and kept him awake during peaceful nights where he was dead and there was no more red. No more warmth.

 

The small city was destroyed by a single bullet.

 

The man killed and ran.

 

A.

Single.

Bullet.

 

Through his heart.

 

A voice that never left it's mouth. A voice he no longer could hear. A lilac flower bloomed out of a chest and left behind it's colourful petals dancing in the wind. The smell of iron covered the whole city.

 

How desperate the man was to run away from his mistakes. From his own shadow.

He was forced, but it was a choice, wasn't it?

 

He chose to pull the trigger.

He chose to kill.

He chose the gun.

 

The time passed by in slow motion, while the bullet pierced right through the young man's chest. Slowly, the flower seeped and bloomed through his neat black suit. The white shirt stained with little flower petals and the sound mixed with a never ending BANG and a soundless scream. Bones broke, crashing through the flowers heart and with the last disruptive noise, the young man's body hit the ground. It was a beautiful sight. The colours leaked and spread on the office floor and vanished after the young man took his last breath.

 

The heart of the city was dead.

But the scar never disappeared.

It could not and his death changed nothing.

 

It only caused more pain and agony for the ones left behind.

Yes, the man in black was in love.

And he chose.

He chose what he has thought was the right path.

But it wasn't.

His cold emotions created guilt and regret which froze the entire city within a night.

 

It was his job to destroy evil. To destroy the flaming red. The man was nothing but a puppet in the hands of a higher power.

 

He chose but had no choice.

Now there is only regret.

 

The man in black stood still. He left everything behind. The small city. The lilac flower. The piercing cold. He left everything and now he has nothing.

 

Nothing but... a single bullet.

 

It was a kill and run.

The end is always the same for such a crime.

 

The sun will never show itself again. At least not for him.

There will be no red nor warmth for a traitor.

There was only the scent of iron and bars.

 

His heart was on fire. There is no turning back.

The flame he craved was wrecked by his own hands.

 

Oh, how he missed the lovely red rose with it's burning passion.

How could he?

It was disgusting, yet, beautiful.

How could he?

Such an ugly colour that pulled him in.

 

Now he is tainted in red.

Such ugliness.

Such beauty.

 

How could he?

 

There is no turning back. There is only the gun and the last bullet. He was left behind.

 

There is no forgiveness.

No wishes.

No blessings.

 

A man in black all alone. The empty city behind, slowly fading from the world. No memories left.

 

A sigh.

The coldness touched his head, but his heart was burning. Such beauty in this ugly world. Gone.

 

Gone and never coming back.

 

A new flower will bloom through his head.

 

Colours spouted. Flower petals dancing and shimmering in every colour as the moon hid behind the mountains. There was no more shadows. No more footsteps to disturb the peaceful silence. No man to care. No actions to regret. There was simply a new flower blooming from a dead man's head.

 

But it was nothing more... than a withered rose.

 


End file.
